


Fancy Pillow Mints and Stone-Cold Doing It

by AliLamba



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Grant Ward Isn't Hydra, Hotels, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliLamba/pseuds/AliLamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye and Ward and a series of hotel rooms.</p><p> </p><p>AU from 1x20 or something, for Skyeward Smut Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy Pillow Mints and Stone-Cold Doing It

**Author's Note:**

> It's alright if I'm a little predictable right? Just checking. Also, this title was literally first thought, this story mostly first draft. Also, this was my prompt for week two:
> 
>   
>  

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You know what they say about hotel rooms, right?”

Skye turns her head to glance at Ward.

“That they’re secretly covered in every bodily fluid known to man?”

He returns half a grin. “Okay, besides that.”

She indulges him with an eye roll.

“Ward, we’re on a mission.”

“Yeah but the mission can wait.”

“It really can’t, and you know it.”

“I know that it can wait an hour.”

She gives him a hard look.

“Twenty minutes?”

“I need those twenty minutes to get _dressed_ , Ward.”

He legitimately pouts.

 

 

But twenty minutes later he’s pouting more, even though Skye is dressed in a gown that can only be described as _unhand me now, fiend._ It’s red and shimmery, and hugs every one of her curves, in this mermaid-y style that is flattering on _everyone_. Ward has only half-noticed how good she looks though. She hadn’t let him strap the switchblade to her thigh.

“How important is this mission, really.”

“Important enough for Coulson to send _us_ , the A-team.”

“Psh. I’m going to guess that the host has a thing for young half-Asian girls.”

She’s suspiciously silent.

“Hey, I can’t blame him.”

“Okay, now this is sort of getting gross.”

“Gross, like, let’s go work through some feelings in the hotel room?”

“Ward!” she whines, spotting their mark. “Later,” she hisses, and she steps off his arm and into the party.

 

It’s a good one, well-attended, and she’s hit on by no fewer than eight dudes as she makes her way closer and closer to General Von Hapsburg or whatever his name is, who indeed does have a thing for young half-Asian women. And yeah, it is a gross fetish. But it’s a gross fetish they can easily exploit.

And she only needs a breath sample (ask Fitz and Simmons – the logic is wasted – she’s better at acquisitions), and a thumb print. Because it’s Simmons’ birthday, Skye’s going to try to get the whole hand.

“General,” she purrs, only suddenly, mildly terrified that he could actually not be a general and she’s made that part up.

He’s interested almost immediately. _Gross. Gross target._ “I should take you over my knee for such a slight. It’s _colonel_ , my dear.”

“Colonel,” she reiterates, cursing Ward’s tuxedo internally. “Goodness, and here I’m dressed only for a general. If I’d known – “

“You’d hardly look more radiant.”

Because she’s good at her job, Skye ducks her head and manages to look sheepish. “You flatter me sir.” She tucks the vial into the crook of her thumb, and offers her hand. Colonel whatever does the utterly predictable thing, of taking her hand, and lavishing kisses all over it. The vial warms ever so slightly in her hand – _gross! gross feature!_ – and she knows she has the sample she needs.

Well that was easy.

Skye casts her gaze over the party and finds Ward not so far off. He looks grumpy as hell, which is – maybe a little predictable too. She sends him a quick little glance that manages to convey that a) she has her part of the stuff, and b) shut up.

She does some more chatting up of this sergeant whatever, while Ward grabs a hand towel so he can impersonate a waiter in his tuxedo and relieve the Colonel of his used glass. It’s easy, it works – they’re done getting everything in less than fifteen minutes.

A-team.

Skye and Ward meet up back at the elevators.

“Have fun?” he drawls.

She doesn’t look at him. “ _Yeah._ I especially loved the part about how I am both subservient and feisty, per my race.”

Ward snorts.

“The day you feel like being subservient _at all_ , please let me know.”

The elevator doors ping open, and they both step inside. “That is just, like, barely better.”

“Because we’re dating?”

“Because we _were_ dating,” she teases, grinning when he pretends to look wounded.

The elevator doors close behind them, and there’s that tiny beat in conversation as they both acknowledge, silently, that they’re in an enclosed space all alone and they’re more or less rabidly attracted to each other.

It was never going to end well.

Ward caves first, turning toward her, mouth open to say something, but all he gets is the sigh of a first syllable before Skye steps into him, molding their lips together in a way that deletes all conversation. There’s no time to go slow – it’s just all hard making out all at once, with the feverishness of two people who know they have a limited amount of time.

When the doors open again on their floor, Skye is pretty sure she gets the hotel room thing.

They practically skip toward their room, Ward pulling the key from his inside jacket pocket, and it’s on the tip of her tongue to remind him how hot he is but she doesn’t. She doesn’t because she wants to _show_ him how hot he is – in the tux, out of it, whatever.

They’re inside the room when Skye rounds on him, chin ducked, eyes dark, ready to rip his clothes off and have him immediately. Ward looks genuinely the same, dropped lower lip, and they crash together in the middle of the room with the ferocity of two people who haven’t had enough privacy lately.

So at first it goes unnoticed, that Skye’s phone is ringing.

And then Ward’s.

But Coulson knew that this would be a possibility, that they would maybe not always answer their phones when it was just the two of them together, so he’s installed a feature that bypasses the whole _answering_ thing.

“ _Skye! Ward!_ ”

Skye leans back just a fraction, hands and arms deep into Ward’s jacket and shirt, her lipstick all over his face.

“Was that…”

“Coulson?”

“ _Guys! Listen to me! You’ve been made. Return to the bus. I repeat. Return to the bus!_ ”

Because…they’re awful people. No, because they’re awful people with _needs_ , really, they spend half a second staring into each other’s eyes in this ‘if you’re willing to keep going I will’ sort of exchange, but they both decide it’s probably better to be sexually frustrated yet _alive_ , so all their energy turns to, you know, accomplishing _that_.

It’s about an hour later, when they’re back on the Bus, getting debriefed by Coulson over cold cans of soup (people who listen get microwaved meals), that they realize they’re not going to get another chance anytime soon.

 

  


When they do, Skye gets food poisoning.

“ _Fuck_ , we were supposed to be using this room for _espionage_ , not for – “ She pauses, her cheeks puff, and she sprints to the bathroom to puke.

Ward tries not to be disgusted, but he’s not a doctor. Or a monk.

“Really saw this going differently,” he muses to himself, which Skye, apparently, has eagle hearing.

“What did you say?” she shouts.

“I said – “ He grimaces. A bad noise has come from the bathroom. “ – god damn Coulson and his cold off-brand chowder!”

He’s at least going to be supportive about it.

 

 

It’s a few weeks later when they find themselves back in a hotel room together again. Well, technically it’s not _theirs_ , it belongs to Ward and May, and that is – annoying Skye more than she’d like it to. She loves May. She _respects_ May. She wishes she wasn’t playing their teenage daughter in this scenario.

“It’s because I still get occasional zits, right.”

“Really? You’re going to try to make me feel better at playing _your mother?_ ” May collects herself and throws a sharp, nervous glance at Ward from the corner of her eye. “I mean. Really. Coulson should’ve known this would never work.”

“Well it’s working right now, so.” Ward gestures to the door, maybe ready to be out of the room more than anyone. “And by that I mean – uh – okay there really is no good way for me to finish this.”

“You just shut up and try to look pretty,” Skye grouses, in this saccharine, _I really hate everything about this_ way. She pats his cheek with more force than strictly necessary as they head out the door.

May glares at her when she tries to order a dirty shirley temple at the bar, and she knows she’s going to hear about it later. But the mission is complicated, something about impersonating a high-ranking diplomat on vacation in Cuba, and they all have to pretend to have French accents. Skye hasn’t yet mastered the whole second-language thing, and she’s pretty sure Ward and May are making fun of her for some fancy person’s benefit, and it takes literally no effort to play dumb, which is – well, super fucking annoying, actually.

They manage to get the key to the private VIP lounge, it’s not hard, they’re so French, and then it’s back to the suite, where May elects to venture on to the next stage on their own while Ward and Skye dick around as back-up.

“So.”

Ward looks up from squinting at his laptop, and its hacked feed of all the hotel’s security cameras.

“Huh?”

She’s trying really hard not to pout. Not to be grumpy. To not play into the whole teenager thing.

“You and May. Sharing a hotel room. Must bring back some _memories_.”

“Are you serious?” He’s panicking only a little, she can tell. “Skye, Agent May is in _actual danger_ right now. I think it behooves us to pay attention.”

“Behoo – puh, I think it uh, _behooves_ us to maybe talk about the fact that we haven’t slept together in like, friggen _weeks_ – “

“Otherwise known as like, three days?”

“There are time differences! …involved.” She gets a borderline patronizing look from Ward. “Time differences,” she sulks.

He turns his attention back to the screen. She’s not ready to give up.

“All I’m saying is that I was promised hotel room sex one of these days, and I’m a super good multitasker.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen. “Like that time you tried to give me a hand job while reading tech manuals?”

“No, not like that,” she frowns.

“Or the time you legitimately forgot I was going down on you because you were watching Game of Thrones.”

“It was a really gross scene! Red Wedding! Not sexy! Very sad!”

“Skye, you are super amazing at a lot of things. Maybe not great at eating peanut butter off spoons and doing math at the same time.”

“I was converting Peruvian soles to Somali shillings, okay! that is – you know, that is not like addition, okay, that takes – wha – Hey! I don’t need to explain myself to you!”

He’s secretly grinning now. And he thinks she can’t tell.

“Raincheck,” he says, and Skye’s mood impossibly sours.

 

 

 

 

The next hotel room they share has a dead body in it.

And Skye is frowning at it. “You know, I might be weaning off this whole hotel room idea.”

Ward squats next to the body. “You might not be wrong about that. Did you know that male bed bugs have penises?”

“ _Ward,_ ” she whines.

“Well, actually? Not so much of a penis as a ‘stabbing implement.’ I saw that in a documentary once.”

“You are so not picking for the next movie night.”

 

 

Then this vaguely miraculous thing happens. It’s after a long, hard-won battle, one that left them all with those ubiquitous physical and emotional scars, and Coulson deems it important that they all take the night off.

“Be back in the morning. There’s always more work to do.”

Skye knows this; they all know this, and Skye is just about ready to curl up in her bunk and watch some documentary about bugs until she falls asleep forever when Ward is suddenly at her elbow.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and she thinks that maybe curling up with Ward is a much better idea, and then sleeping forever.

“Hey,” she returns, all soft smile. He’s gazing at her nicely, and she wonders what he’s thinking.

“I had an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Trust me?”

 

 

Ward opens the door to the hotel room, and Skye walks inside. They’d declared no luggage, registered for the room under the name Mr. and Mrs. Poots, and made sure – five times – that the room had a huge, soaker tub. Like, friggen _huge_.

It’s where Skye goes first, because she’s so sore, and tired, and she has memories better doused with hot water than sex at the moment.

“Hey do you want room service?” Ward calls out, but Skye is already halfway into the bathroom, and whatever else he says is drowned out by the jet of hot water. The tub fills, Skye undresses, and then she sinks into it, dirty, tired, her banged up knee winging in pain. She sinks until the water’s up to her shoulders, and closes her eyes, sinks further, until her nose is hovering above the waterline and she can blow bubbles like a child.

A shadow crosses over her face, and Skye opens her eyes, finding Ward hovering over her.

“This tub is huge.”

She spits out water like a fountain of cupid. “Why do you think I insisted on the suite?”

“I thought that was to punish me for failing to deliver all the other times.”

“Whoa. No. It was for this giant-ass tub.”

He holds her gaze for a moment, face impassive.

“Room for one more?”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t drop his gaze, doesn’t particularly emote except with some reserved something or other, as she slides out of the way.

Ward starts undressing, which, it’s not really the first time she’s seen him naked, not even the fiftieth time she’s seen him naked, maybe, probably, but it’s not like the nudity thing has gotten _old_. It might not be so bad if he wasn’t staring into her eyes the whole time, almost like, _daring_ her to break first. It makes it annoyingly impossible to stare at his developing nudity. But then he has to look away to make sure he doesn’t trip as he gets in, and she steals a sneak peek.

Ward groans when he’s in the water. She’s not sure if it’s a good, balm to aching muscles groan or bad, scalding water into all my open wounds groan. He’s sometimes good at hiding the difference, and sometimes she wishes he wasn’t.

“You okay?”

He nods without opening his eyes. Then he does, open his eyes, and he looks at her again.

“Yeah. Come ‘ere.”

She considers saying no for about a second. Then she slides through the water, turning until her back is to him and her hips are wiggling in between his thighs, and they settle into a loose, naked embrace.

“I was worried about you, this time,” he murmurs, into her hair.

“Just this time?”

“Well. No. It’s been sort of – it’s been sort of more like every time, lately.” She looks up at him. “Maybe it’s sort of _always_ every time.”

She tries for a smile after a complicated moment. “Hey not to worry. I had a pretty great teacher. I was like, moderately well-trained.”

He cracks half a grin, and she’s relieved. Skye resettles against his chest. They’re quiet for another few moments, a million and one unspoken thoughts and reflections between them. Eventually, the only thing she can find courage to say is,

“I’m glad The Hood didn’t hack your arm off.”

She hears him snort. It ruffles her hair. “Me too.”

Her muscles relax then, and she realizes she was tense. Ward recognizes it too, and he pulls her closer to him, tucking his hands over her body so she doesn’t float away. And slowly it seeps in there – past the whole death and dying thing – that they’re both pretty naked, and super close together. All their skin is sliding against each other, and Skye’s heart starts beating a little faster inside her chest. She licks her lips, and it sounds loud, in the cavernous bathroom.

“Hey,” she murmurs, “soap me up?”

He acquiesces with a nod, and she hands him the bar of fancy hotel soap. He starts at her shoulders and arms, and Skye leans back into his chest so he can reach all the way to her fingertips under the surface of the clear water. The soap curls over each cuticle in turn, and she watches, a mix of fortified, muddy emotions in her head. Ward hesitates for a moment, and she knows it’s a silent question of what other body part is generally safe for him to touch; how intimate is this going to get? He’s asking.

Skye doesn’t want to move or change positions, so she has to help. The water breaks when her leg splits the surface of the bath. It’s not meant to be sexy, really, it was supposed to be just an extra limb…but the way he pauses for a moment, before moving his hand with the soap…well, that uh…that _is_ sexy. It’s sexy, and Skye bites her lip, because she knows they’re both looking at her naked leg, and then they’re both watching as Ward touches the soap to her knee. They both hear him swallow, and they both watch as his hand moves up and down her shin…and then over and around her calf.

Her heart is definitely beating faster, and she’s feeling the extra warmth inside her body. Even better? She’s feeling _Ward’s_ extra warmth against her back.

“I’m not going to push you for this,” he breathes into her hair, all husky, like, he’s having very unclean thoughts.

Skye drops her leg, turns her face, and kisses him.

 _Way ahead of you_ , she wants to say.

She’s kissing him with ulterior motives. Ulterior, selfish motives get her to slowly spread her thighs, searching out for his hand in the water. He’s still holding the soap, now in a clenched fist. She has to pull back from their kiss just to bite her lower lip because it’s all so hot. There’s a surge of heat between her thighs. She navigates Ward’s hand to the inside of her knee. Her lower lip gets more pressure from her teeth as she guides Ward’s hand up and up her skin, closer and closer to where she’d like him. All of a sudden, he gasps, drops the soap, and then his fingers are… _well_ … They slide through her trimmed pubic hair, all fingernails over sweetly sensitized skin, and she loves that he drops his head to her neck and attaches his mouth to her flesh. She leans into his kiss there as his hand, under hers, finds more intimate ground.

Baths are generally not great lubricant, and Ward starts his small massage at her clitoris, which he is arguably very, very familiar with. The rough pad of his finger makes slow, tiny circles, this little _hello, how are you_ gesture which she really appreciates. She’s doing much better, thanks, and the more Ward touches her there, the more the heat blooms all over her body. Her eyes close, and she moans a little, and Ward’s mouth peppers kisses against her neck. His fingers slip against her folds, and she loves how easily he slides against her, because – shit, it’s obvious, right? Her lips part on a little puff of air, heat curling underneath Ward’s hand, and her own hand, which so lightly covers his, silent recommendation that he not move it any time soon.

He knows what to do, using his long fingers to slip up and down her slit, massage her clit, the whole wonderful business, but after a few long minutes Skye wants – she wants _more_ – so she applies some pressure with her hand, moves Ward’s down, then presses her middle finger along his, until he’s getting it, he’s penetrating her, just to the knuckle, and then _more_ , and it’s – it’s so fucking _hot_ , really, and Ward groans and pants in the same breath, and that sound’s impossibly _better_. He starts sliding his finger inside and out of her, pumping lightly, gently, but his fingers are long and thick and at this angle they’re really working for her, especially when she starts matching him a little, eyes closed, shifting her hips back and forth on his hand. The water starts sloshing against the tub, threatening to overflow, but Skye doesn’t care – it’s been such a shitty few days – she fucking earned this – she _wants this_ – Ward’s hands all over her, inside her, his mouth on the sensitive parts of her neck. She uses her free hand to grab at his hair, keep his mouth on the sweetest spot as she grinds a little harder into the pumping of his fingers, and it takes just a few more moments to build into the feelings of it all, to follow them as they go, to find her own release. She’s all tumbling energy and tightly released heat in a torrent of very keen moans.

And it’s _hot_.

No then – it’s really fucking hot.

“Oh, shit,” she mutters, leaning off of him, pushing herself into a more seated position. Her skin is flushed all over, the crux of her thighs is raging in electric overload, and the bath is too hot. Her shoulders and upper back find cooler air. Sweat has started at her hairline. She bites her lip, turns. “Can we uh, take this outside?”

He looks so fucking lost in the world. Like, dazed. It’s a beautiful thing.

“Not literally, right?”

It earns him a grin. She twists fully, leans her weight onto her hands in the water, leans her body forward until she can kiss him full on the mouth. No tongue - just long, lingering lips, full of promise of more and wanting, always wanting.

“ _No promises_.”

She really likes those rare chances she’s able to trip him up. Pity that it’s usually in bed.

Skye leans back on her heels and then stands, extending a hand down to little lost Ward puppy. He takes her hand, both using muscles to get him standing too. Then he’s looking down at her. He pushes wet hair around her ears. Leans down. Kisses her – hard. And he uses tongue.

They navigate to the bed, in this exuberant tangle of arms, legs, kisses and teeth that really should be more coordinated for two people capable of, you know, being _super spies_. But they’re distracted by need, and its making them tremulous and overeager, and when they get close to the bed Ward pulls back, plants his hands on Skye’s shoulders, and shoves her onto the bedspread. Skye makes quick work of getting rid of the duvet, mussing all the fancy sheets in the process. She’s looking at Ward darkly, invitingly, and he has a flashing memory of what she looked like in that red, mermaid-y dress.

And he puts his knee onto the mattress, pushes Skye up the bed so there’s room for him too, and then he leans into the space between her legs. She looks just too fucking hot, really, it’s unfair, and he’s going to punish her in his favorite way.

Skye releases a moan the moment his lips touch her sex, but it’s the good sort of moan, all fisted sheets and delicious Skye, and Ward sets about his task earnestly. He loves the way she tastes, loves the feeling of her long legs alternately tense and limp around him, loves how, how _immobile_ she is when he has her like this, like she would stay forever if he never decided to stop.

The heady taste of her thickens against his tongue and he knows he’s building her up again. Tongue up and down her opening, tongue everywhere, tongue swirling her clitoris with his lips until she’s _keening_ , arching up off the bed, and he _loves this part_ –

He gets it. It’s his favorite thing, almost, there are so many great things to choose from, but it’s so fucking hot when she comes undone like this, it’s so fucking hot when he gets to _taste_ her orgasm, knowing it’s one hundred percent because of him. He glances up her body as she convulses a little – those little shuddering spasms that ripple through her like tiny, little earthquakes. They’re impossible to detect if you’re not literally connected to her, and he loves that part too.

Her eyes are closed, brow bunched in sweet agony.

“Skye?” He kisses her pubic bone.

She doesn’t respond all at once. Ward gets a little concerned.

“Skye?”

“Just – give me a minute.”

He’s trying not to get upset or anything that she’s not reaching for him, not trying to pull him into an embrace or anything. She looks – er – she looks as if the night might be over, maybe, and that’s – that would be okay, he wouldn’t really complain – but he might need, like, a cold shower or two.

He decides to get a glass of water. His erection is a distracting, slightly cumbersome fact of life for him right then, but he prefers to abide by hotel room rules – you don’t have to wear clothes if you don’t want to.

When he comes back into the bedroom, he notices two things right away: a) the bed is a mess, and b) Skye is looking at him.

She’s on her back, head tilted and turned so she’s looking up at him, and he can see all the way down the plane of her body as it leads away from him toward the far wall. He’s looking, and looking, and it’s really doing things for him – her body literally always has – and that has really totally expected consequences. He tries to take another sip of water like everything’s still okay, but then she’s biting her lower lip, and fuck he loves that too, and then her eyes go all dark again and – I mean, _biology_ …

“Oh, fuck, _Ward_ ,” she mews, and that’s – crap, that really _does something for him_.

He looks into her eyes again, and her arm slides off the messy sheets, and she holds her hand out to him.

He puts the glass of water on the top of the dresser no one ever uses, and pads over the carpeted floor to her. He reaches Skye’s hand, and she tugs him forward, and then her hand is on his ass, and her other hand is on his cock, and that’s – fuck, that’s totally hot, totally hot when her face is so close to his dick and she’s sustaining eye contact with him, from around the hand moving up and down his shaft. She looks at him, wets her lips, and then pushes his hips back, pushes them back until she’s tilting her head back where it is literally hanging off the bed. Her lips are finding the head of his cock, and this is – holy _shit_ holy _shit_ , she has her lips over his cock, she’s swallowing the first inch of him, and Ward’s jaw literally hangs open and he forgets to think about anything.

She maneuvers them with the ease of someone not ready to give up what they’re doing any time soon, her wet tongue massaging the top side of his dick as she pulls more and more of him into her throat. It feels fucking amazing, fucking surreal like this, watching his dick disappear into his girlfriend’s mouth while he can spare little glances at the rest of her hot, amazing, upturned body, her breasts and her belly and her legs and – and everything. He’s standing beside the bed, knees bent at odd angles because fuck if he was going to do _anything_ to prevent what is actively happening to him right now, but then – fuck, he was just in battle, and it starts to wear on him, this position, despite how amazing it feels, so he leans in just a little, Skye must realize what’s going on, and she slides down the bed, but her hand stays on his hip, and it’s a fucking relief because he was terrified that she’d stop.

Ward climbs carefully up onto the bed, knees on the mattress, Skye’s mouth still on his dick, sucking with hollow cheeks, up and down, up and down his shaft, her hand making up for where her lips can’t fully reach because of his length. Her knees are bent, her thighs squeezed together, and she moans a little on his skin, and that feels so great, feels great when her hand moves from his hip and dips between her thighs, yanks a puff of the sheets tightly between her legs and then throws her arm back to his body. Her back arches to take more and more of him into her throat, she puts both arms around his hips in this loose embrace and shit – shit shit! – he can feel it, the tightening in his balls, because fuck, it’s all so fucking hot, it’s all so ridiculously hot – and he’s awful, but he wonders – he really wonders –

Ward tests whether he’s allowed to pump into her mouth at all – just a little press forward of his hips, and she – she fucking _moans_ , so deep in her throat, and his eyes go wide because _that’s a fucking yes_.

This newfound power is really tripping him up, and he starts slow, fucking her mouth with short little thrusts, barely moving at all really, and it wouldn’t be so hot if she wasn’t _writhing_ on the bed, her thighs pressed and sliding together like he knows she’s just dripping wet. It dumps heat into his groin, he keeps pressing into her mouth, she keeps _moaning_ , and it’s – shit it’s there, it’s totally there – between her warm mouth, gentle suction, and hot body.

“ _Skye_ ,” he warns, because he’s going to come in less than five seconds maybe, and he needs her to make a decision, but he feels her hands turn to fists against his ass and his hips, and – _shit!_ – the roiling in his balls is totally consuming. He moves in and out of her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, and she won’t stop moaning about it, her thighs stuck tight together over the sheet, twisting and twisting. The pressure builds, and it builds – not in bits in pieces but in mile-long leaps and bounds, and he’s right there, about to come, no, he’s _going to come_ – his mouth opens on a cracked gasp, and he spills in her mouth, spilling semen onto her tongue, into her cheeks, and – and the fucking column of her throat.

Skye breaks her mouth off his dick with an energetic gasp, and his gaze jumps to her face with immediate fear of what he’ll find. Disgust? Loathing? Anger?

His eyes go wide again.

She is…holy shit she is fucking… _on_.

Skye scrambles to an upright position. She throws her arms around his shoulders, mashes their mouths together in a desperate kiss – he can taste – oh man – it’s all over her face – and that – _holy shit_ – _that shouldn’t be doing things for him_ –

“More, Ward,” she begs, and she falls back on the bed, pulling him with her, and then she’s shoving him down her body again. And it’s with thanks or gratefulness or _whatever_ because he goes with exuberance exactly where she wants him, his magical tongue and mouth and lips there at the pinpoint of all her pent-up energy, the hair’s trigger for her own release – like a tightrope she’s been walking on with bowling shoes, because – it’s there, her orgasm is _right there_ , and with a loud and frankly inglorious cry, she comes for the fucking _third time in an hour_ and it’s…it’s all so fucking wonderful.

She’s putty as he laps at her patiently, adoringly, and she feels no shame about it.

He knows she’s utterly spent, so his caresses turn to kisses, brushstrokes of his lips against her inner thighs and hip bones. He climbs up her body then, eyeing the spot next to her in the tangled sheets, which is where he collapses.

He curls into her, pulls her close, and they twist together like braided bread – limbs overlapping, arms around torsos, fingers into hair. Her head rests against his shoulder and the sheets beneath them.

And they fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

Morning is when they realize they never _technically, fully_ consummated whatever in their hotel room, so that’s business number one.

Then it’s all about breakfast, which is also copious and warm.

Skye is just finishing a crust of toast when she remembers something.

“Hey, you ever going to tell me what they say about hotel rooms?”

“Huh?” He’s literally reading a newspaper, and it’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

She wonders if he maybe doesn’t remember. It was like, months ago, probably, when he said it for the first time.

“You were going to tell me – er, no, you asked me if I knew what people said about hotel rooms.”

His expression’s blank for a moment, before a lewd, lascivious grin starts to spread over his face. He licks his lips, puts down the newspaper, and leans over, arms around her on the chair, leans until he’s all up in Skye’s business, all super close to kissing her, and she can’t help but smile reflexively.

“So?” she breathes, hooking an arm around his neck.

He rubs his nose against hers, and Skye grins, ready to be kissed.

“Only good for one thing,” Ward murmurs.

And it wouldn’t be such a stupid line (though honestly, it’s really, very, very stupid)…if he didn’t have her totally convinced.

 

 

 


End file.
